


Striking

by Elkian (SuperImposed)



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bad end, Confirmed Bachelor Perk, Crushes, Drabble, Gen, Legion Victory (Fallout), Legion being Legion, Legion-Aligned Courier, Slavery, hints of Knight/Courier except well, no beta we die like basically everyone at the outpost, see the other tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:54:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25175722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperImposed/pseuds/Elkian
Summary: The Courier was a striking man.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	Striking

Working at the Outpost was necessary. Knight knew that, and he was a diligent man, a good soldier.

But it was so terribly _boring_ , most days.

So Knight remembered the day the Courier arrived.

Standing in the door, backlit by the sun, his hair had lit up like pure fire, the shadows of his scars even deeper across his face.

He'd had a wicked grin, turning cunning and warm when his hand rested over Knight's, asked his name in an almost _sinful_ tone. It'd flustered the Major, despite the man asking so little, really. He'd flushed and blabbered about how the NCR handled "friendships", toying with the clipboard so he didn't have to make eye contact.

Which had probably, in retrospect, been a mistake. Maybe he would have seen... something.

But no, the Courier kept coming back, smooth and sweet like high-shelf whiskey, fingers resting just barely against Knight's arm, or hand, as the man asked after jobs, for help with repairs.

He had, for a time, been the darling of the NCR movement. Scouting Nipton, clearing the road, uncovering a terrible Legion plot at McCarran (if a bit too late)... Hell, even dragging Morales' body through dangerous Fiend territory to secure a proper burial for the man, and his widow.

He'd leant a hand, too, at the Outpost more than once - helping look for Ghost and Jackson's killers, to find whomever left the odd corpse in the camp beds. And Forlorn Hope, finding a drug thief; running messages for Reyes; _turning in dog tags_.

God.

He'd been so, so stupid.

"...from the Outpost," one of those damned Legionnaires was saying.

Knight didn't bother looking up. He was a soldier, yes, but he knew they'd... they'd lost. That looking up, asking questions, _standing_ _out_ could mean a beating, at minimum.

This was already going to be hard enough.

"Interesting," said a voice that sent prickles up Knight's spine. Low and soft as it was, he couldn't forget it (and his damned, traitorous stomach couldn't help that giddy flip, despite the situation). Further confirmination was the quiet - the Courier Knight had kn- _met_ , had footsteps nearly silent, asked for help more than once with his little 22 pistol or silenced rifle.

Maybe he hadn't pulled the last trigger, betrayed the whole nation, but Knight couldn't help but blame himself. How had he not _seen_?

A shadow falls over him. He shudders, and refuses to look up, until a gloved hand crooks gently under his chin.

Tears are unbecoming of a soldier. If that's what he still is.

Oh yes - the red hair, growing out now from where it'd been shaved around the bullet scars; a weathered eyepatch, now gaudy with a golden bull stamped across it. And that smile, that he'd dreamed of so often.

"Well, now... look who it is."

**Author's Note:**

> Based on my run as my Stealth-Guns Legion-boi, Bastard. Who was always getting Knight's help, and selling Lacey her coworker's gear after stripping their corpses in the middle of the canteen.
> 
> Poor Knight. He deserves better.


End file.
